


Colors

by redscout



Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Implied Relationships, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 11:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9233693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscout/pseuds/redscout
Summary: Nick recalls a conversation that reminds him why he's still fighting for survival.





	

" _Hey Nick_."

The rain outside scratches against the building like the ghost of its house cat, eager to break open the white walls and drench its inhabitants. In the moment, he forgets that it wasn't just simple showers, this was a storm, and the crackle of lightning lights up his side of the window with a jolt and a muted roar of thunder following it.

" _Why's your shirt blue?_ "

He sits back against the wall, breaking eye contact with the dirt outside for the first time in thirty minutes. The way he slumps suggests exhaustion, but he's got another adrenaline shot on hand, just in case. It was his turn to keep watch, and the thin, flickering light of the gas oven across the way was keeping him more occupied than he was willing to admit. Lightning cracks again, throwing a shaking groan of thunder with it, but he does not jump this time. It was easy to tell the storm was right over top of them now.

" _What kind'a dumbass question is that?_ "

How many days had it been was a question he'd found himself asking again and again. _A day_ , he'd tell himself. _No, two_ , he'd decide later. _A whole week, maybe_. Time runs together sometimes in ways he can't describe, and thinking about it longer has him staring back outside across the way. Still no infected, but another crack of thunder and lightning-- the weather was being particularly unforgiving right now.

" _It's jus' a why question. Like, why do_ you _think it's blue?_ "

He seethes gently and runs both hands down the length of his face. Sleep was out of the question at this point and his mind was asking him to relive it again. He grips the shotgun in his lap harder and slams his eyes shut.

"Ellis, I don't fucking know."

The evening sun highlights the two figures on top of the car like spotlights, soft luminescence cradling the both of them. It was warm outside, he can remember that. Ellis was still smiling.

"I-it's blue, this shirt isn't even mine."

He stares down the other man, looking for a sign of wavering, but none greets his gaze. Ellis sits there with his smirk still twisted into his features, and Nick looks away, down at his suit, beaten and dirtied with continued travel. As he shoved Ellis' question out of his mind, his eyes wandered back over to where Coach and Rochelle were seated, just outside of their safe house. The both of them were laughing about something, and Nick forgot for a pure fraction of a second that he wasn't literally anywhere else-- until Ellis piped up once more.

"See, I think it means _sad_. You're one helluva sad sack, Nick, hey." And that made Nick meet eyes with the younger man once more, raising an eyebrow. Despite Ellis' smile, everything about his words felt sincere, and Nick wasn't sure what to make of it.

"What?"

"You're a sight for sore eyes, pal." The retort came as a surprise, but even more so did the soft punch that connected with his shoulder. "Always lookin' at things like you got this, this personal vendetta against life and stuff. What's up with that?"

"I _do_ have a personal vendetta against life, _and stuff,_ " he added in mocking. But his facial expression softened further when he read into the mechanic's words the tiniest bit more. And still, that smile stuck to his features like it belonged. Nick supposed, maybe it did.

"See what I mean? It's sad. That blue could be for anything in the whole world, Nick, that blue could be for the sky, or for your favorite season, or somethin' your lady given you--"

"Ellis, what in the hell are you goin' on about?" Ellis seemed to turn out of the mini trance he'd coaxed himself into, and then faced Nick with an air of innocence on his expression.

"Oh, well. It's a bit of a story," he tried, glancing at the other man's expression, but Nick held his look of focus, saying nothing. Ellis continued. "Colors, they... I dunno how to say it. I've never really explained it before." He turned away from Nick and laid himself down on the car, supported gently by the trunk and the roof. "Colors... make categorizin' things easier. Um, good memories and things. You ever read a book or somethin', and just get a color in your head? Maybe it's just me, but it's a lot easier to think about happy stuff when it's all in one place like that. A filin' cabinet." Nick listened closely, intrigued. He'd never heard this side of Ellis before, and it made him glance down at the younger man's face. He was staring at the clouds, his gaze soft.

"...Tell me about them," Nick starts, staring off a ways, and he can feel Ellis' eyes resting on his side. His expression isn't hardened like normal, and to raise an open ear to his friend was a new kind of connection the two had never gotten to before. Ellis is silent for a while, as if taking in this request, and then he seats himself a bit more comfortably, twining his fingers in his lap.

"Well, I always start off by thinkin'a orange, 'cause back home we was always out 'til evening messin' with shit and playin' 'til our feet would fall off. The sky'd get all creamy and warm colored, and Ma'd call us in for dinner, just when the crickets would start. It was always them good, sunny days. I remember 'em all." Nick remains incredibly quiet as Ellis continues, his spirit leaking into his speech and invading the older man's psyche like a fire, a warm, soft feeling in his chest. "And Mama used to tend the marigolds out in our front yard, and she'd sit out there with us while the sun went down readin' books and waterin' those pretty little suckers. Even Keith was careful not to step on 'em, and our yard was the brightest around. That's my mama's flowers.

"Keith used to tell me in high school when we got our truck shop goin', he was gonna paint his car orange, 'n' say the whole thing was covered in flames." Ellis chuckles lightly at this, his eyes glazed in a way that makes his reminiscing seem much more personal. "I jus' thought it was 'cause red's too mainstream, but he still wanted it bright enough to pick up girls in, y'know. He came over a lot on the weekends and we'd sit 'n' talk on my bed 'til the sun turned orange outside, and I think it's because he thought me an' Ma were more of a family than he really had himself. And that was okay with me."

He pauses here, giving a long and drawn out sigh through his nose. Nick's still processing the prose as he gently seats himself next to Ellis, staring up at the sky with him. Clouds rolled past lazily as the sun began to sink in the west, lighting up the sky with a yellow-orange hue.

"Then, umm. Well. Greens reminds me of the other days. When it wasn't sunny out, but it was raining, and we'd go sloshin' in swamp country tryin' to find us gators. And all the trees and plants would be drooping, but they're the only things still left with their colors in the world besides the dirt. It was just brown and grey and green, everywhere, and Mama would still call us inside if we was out in the yard when the sky started getting darker. And, you know, the next morning the smell o' the earth would be real fresh, and the green plants stand up straighter 'cause they got a drink or two the day before. Everything's wet and even the moss is pretty.

"Sometimes, though, I think about those dumb little car air fresheners, you know the ones? They're shaped like trees and got a nice evergreen scent and shit. I think'a those, too, 'cause we'd put those on everybody's mirrors for free after we fixed somethin' or cleaned somethin' back in the shop. And then _that_ makes me think about roadtrips and I get all turned up on the color orange again. Sky's _always_ orange on roadtrips." Nick smiles at this softly, his hands cushioning the back of his head against the metal of the car. Ellis continues staring for a while, but he sighs again, and glances over at the older man, the smile returning to his features. "What about you, Nick?"

Nick is momentarily taken aback by this question, because for once, he's really not sure how to answer. His talent was repressing memories, not working them up to be freeform poetry. Colors weren't something he kept his eyes on at all times, and thinking about it more put his thought process in perspective-- he didn't spend his time paying attention to the world.

"Uh... I'm not really sure. I don't associate colors with anything." There's a sternness to his voice, but he's not patronizing the other man, and even Ellis catches that hint. The sky is getting darker now, descending into a hazy, deep red. Coach and Rochelle have gone inside, but the other two survivors make no move, suspended in their own little space for a few minutes longer. 

"Red's an alright color," Ellis continues after a moment, and Nick is glad he does, "but I think it's overused for emotions like anger and hatred and evil. Yeah, I guess some colors are neutral or have more than one connotation, or whatever, but red gets all this bad stigma. Plain and simple, I think red means love."

Nick's eyes shoot open as the thunder outside crashes again. His hands grip the shotgun in his lap tightly, and he moves to wipe the sweat off of his brow. Gently, he glances towards the door into the hallway, looking for any sign indicating the others were up, but none came. The house was entirely silent minus his own, stifled breathing, and the continued patter of the rain on the house. He peers out the window again, and then closes his eyes, drowning it all out once more.

"Red's got so much potential to be anything other than anger... red's so intense, it's energy, it's _passion_ , yeah, maybe a bit volatile, but that's what passion is, I guess. No, no, that's what _love_ is. Passionate, volatile." They're both silent for a long while as another soft cloud drifts by overhead, and the end of the day descends from a red hue to muted colors of the rainbow. Ellis is smiling again, and Nick folds his hands over his stomach gently. The world is peaceful for a minute.

"Hey Ellis."

Nick's already working to push this out of his mind again, eyes finally open once more. Staring at the dying fire in the oven across the way calms him down slowly but surely, and he glances around the empty room again to remind himself that he's just exhausted and dehydrated right now. He sits up a bit straighter, and glances out the window again.

" _What about blue? What's it mean to you._ "

His eyes focus in on the dirt across the way, somehow entirely glad the rain seemed to be letting up slightly. It would be a real disservice to Ellis if his grave was washed out by some shit storm. He, of all people, didn't deserve that fate. Slowly, Nick sets down the shotgun at his side.

" _Aw, blue? That's an easy one._ "

He stares dejectedly at the object now in his hands, the mesh and fabric both worn by age and wear. He thumbs over the tow truck decal lowly, brushing the dirt off of the front of it to hopefully retain some of its denim coloring. Nick stares at the hat for a long time, before standing up, and placing it in the pocket of his suit again. He stares out the window one last time, and then moves to blow out the fire.

"Blue means hope."


End file.
